


Help me tear down my reason

by ember_firedrake



Category: due South
Genre: Frottage, Lapdance, M/M, Strip Tease, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 02:06:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ember_firedrake/pseuds/ember_firedrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray works undercover at a strip club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help me tear down my reason

**Author's Note:**

  * For [popkin16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/popkin16/gifts).



> Title taken from "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails.

For reasons that were entirely logical—or at least, so he kept telling himself—Benton Fraser, RCMP, was at a male strip club. The exact set of circumstances that had led him to this particular location, however, was less than ideal. It had been the club's lead dancer who had approached Ray. They were neighbors in the same building, not that Fraser had been initially aware of the fact. It seemed the club he worked at had been receiving threats since its open six months prior—a member of the surrounding community disgruntled with the nature of the club, and its male clientele. 

"Look, Ray, normally I'd want nothing to do with the police, but I need your help," Gene had said. "Some of the guys…they're really freaked that this creep is going to try something."

Ray nodded. "What gave you the impression this guy wasn't postulating—"

"Posturing," Fraser had supplied helpfully.

"Yeah, that. What I mean is, why come to me now and not then?"

Gene had wrung his hands, leaning against Ray's laminate counters in his apartment's kitchen. "Wanted to see if we could take care of it ourselves. Some of the notes—well, they gave the impression that he had actually come into the club some nights, comments on our routines, stuff like that...We hired extra security, but that just led to notes that he'd find us outside the club sometime, and I—I don't want to be afraid coming home."

He passed the stack of notes to Ray, who looked them over, face going more tense as he read on. His jaw clenched, and Fraser could see a pulse in his temple from the effort it cook to keep his anger from showing.

"Okay," Ray said, his voice strangely calm. "This calls for an inside job. I'm going in."

Fraser jerked his head up from the note he'd been browsing—it was replete with poor grammar, and several instances of hateful slurs that had made Fraser press his lips thin in distaste. "Ray?" was all he said in answer to Ray's statement. 

"Makes sense," Ray said. "We can't make this asshole think he's attracted police attention. I'll go undercover as one of the dancers. You can come along as my backup."

Fraser's tongue didn't want to cooperate as he attempted a response. "But Ray—" he stammered out. Gene looked similarly skeptical, though the lines of worry had eased from his face at Ray's agreement to help. 

"What? I've got moves! And I can work a crowd. I'll figure out who this guy is, and then…"

Ray didn't finish his thought, but Fraser suspected _and then_ involved kicking in the head.

That was how Fraser had ended up here, at the _Midnight Pulse_ , seated in a chair close to the stage. While another seat would perhaps grant greater access to view the room, Ray had rejected that idea.

"Everyone'll be looking at the stage, Fraser. If you're doing you observation thing it might spook the guy into lying low. Let me take care of that, and wait for my signal."

Fraser fidgeted in the chair as people filed into the room around him. He was in off-duty clothes: denim jeans, a flannel shirt, and his brown leather jacket. As Ray had pointed out, red serge would attract too much attention. "Can't have them thinking you're part of the show, now," Ray had said with a wink. He had disappeared into the back several minutes ago to change. 

Fraser was no stranger to the necessity to adopt a disguise when the situation required it. Indeed, he'd had no qualms whatsoever when it had been essential he pass as a woman, and had thoroughly dedicated himself to the task. He was aware of the risks involved in this particular case, but that was to be expected in their line of work. No, he suspected his current misgivings had nothing to do with Ray's willingness to place himself in a dangerous situation, and all to do with the attraction Fraser felt towards his partner. He had done his best to work around it, ignoring his own desires, but he feared present circumstances might…exacerbate the situation. 

All too soon, the lights were dimming, and Fraser resisted the urge to sit up straighter. Around him, men were relaxed, enjoying themselves. He had to blend in, appear unobtrusive. He shifted further down in his seat and took a sip of his drink: a root beer. Music started. It was a garish beat Fraser recognized only as club music, suited well enough to the atmosphere but not the sort of thing he could imagine listening to anywhere else. Then the curtains parted.

Oh. _My_.

Ray was arresting. His hair was spiked even more than normal, gelled into wild peaks. Black lined his eyelids, giving his eyes a shadowed, smoky look. It wasn't apparent that there was color on his lips, but they were glossy and seemed fuller. Fraser let his gaze travel down the band of leather at Ray's throat, the form-fitting vest that clung to his torso and left his arms exposed, to the tattoo Fraser recognized on Ray's right bicep, and the one he didn't on the inside of Ray's left forearm—probably a temporary addition. Ray's wrists were adorned with leather bands matching the one on his neck. 

Fraser's breath hitched as he took in the rest of Ray's appearance. Tight pants rested low on his hips—some facsimile of leather, though Fraser suspected it wouldn't be possible to fit into leather pants that tight. They clung obscenely to his hips and thighs, and Fraser's gaze skittered over Ray's prominently displayed crotch to settle instead on Ray's boots which completed the ensemble. Fraser was so caught up, he couldn't even regard the others on stage. He had eyes only for Ray, though his partner was at the end of a line of dancers. 

The routine started, and then Ray was _moving_ , derailing all of Fraser's attempts to keep from thinking of his partner in _that_ way. Men in the club cheered their approval, and though Fraser knew many of them were looking at the other dancers, he couldn't imagine why they would look anywhere else. Ray's hips swiveled in a slow undulation, and his eyes were sultry as they scanned the crowd. Fraser knew Ray was only looking for their suspect, but what he wouldn't give to have Ray's eyes like that on him.

Then, unexpectedly, they _were_ on him, catching him so thoroughly it was an effort to remember how to breathe. Ray's pupils were wide, rimmed with the barest hint of blue, and the combined effect of that and the eyeliner had Fraser slack-jawed, frozen by the intensity of that gaze. Ray's tongue flicked out, wetting his lower lip, as he caught the zipper of his vest between thumb and forefinger and slowly dragged it down in time with the music and the motion of his hips. All the while, his eyes remained locked with Fraser's. He grinned then, that wide devil-may-care grin that was half smirk, as he let the vest slide off his shoulders to be discarded behind him. Beneath it, Ray's torso was bare except for the holster which framed his shoulders. The gun, Fraser noted, was Ray's own firearm, not the prop which everyone here would believe it to be. That answered the question of where Ray would hide his weapon; in plain sight. 

Some of the club's patrons whooped, and Ray broke eye contact with Fraser, going back to scanning the club. Fraser let out a shaky breath, though whether it was of relief or disappointment, he couldn't tell. His jeans felt uncomfortably tight, and he longed to ease that pressure. 

The routine was far from over, however, along with their case, so relief would have to wait. That became more difficult as Ray dragged a hand across the planes of his chest, circling each of his nipples in turn, before going lower. His fingers carded through the trail of dark blond hair just below his navel. Ray's thumb dipped below the waistband of those low pants, tugging it further down.

Fraser was sure he let out a guttural noise at that. Ray's hipbones created an enticing V, and pulling down the waistband had just revealed more of it. He wanted to lick into that groove of muscle, lay Ray out and just taste him. Ray gripped the waistband of the pants with both hands and pulled outwards in a sharp jerk.

The material definitely wasn't leather, as Fraser had suspected. It fell away from Ray's body, some trick of snaps or hooks, though Fraser honestly didn't care how it had been done. His entire focus had narrowed, not even hearing the reactions of the crowd. Ray—now clad only in knee-high boots, shoulder holster, the leather bands on his wrists and neck, and a black thong—stalked towards Fraser.

Fraser tensed, what Ray would call his deer-in-the-headlines look, but he couldn't help it. This was too much, everything he'd always desired and some things he hadn't dared to imagine. He knew there was no way he would be able to keep his own feelings hidden. And then, suddenly, Ray was too close, pressing into Fraser's personal space as he braced his booted legs outside Fraser's thighs, almost straddled in Fraser's lap. Fraser drew in a sharp breath—Ray's face was _right there_ , inches from his own. He wasn't strong enough to withstand this temptation. But then, did he really have to withstand it? Would giving into this be a weakness?

Ray was still moving to the music’s beat, thrusting his hips into the air between them. Fraser glanced down, then wished he hadn't. Ray was hard, cock straining against the thong. Fraser could see where the material was damp, from sweat and who knew what else. He groaned, his own hips twitching upwards of their own volition, and for the briefest of moments they were in contact.

" _Ray_ ," Fraser breathed. 

He looked up, turning his eyes away from the space between their bodies. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't this. Ray's face was completely unguarded. It was as if he had been stripped bare—metaphorically speaking, in this case—all the sarcasm and deflection that made him up was gone, and only his essence remained. His eyes were wide, filled with the shock of revelation. He was as affected by this as Fraser was. 

Fraser only had a moment to consider that discovery, because Ray was leaning his face close, near enough that Fraser could have counted his eyelashes, if he so chose. Another time, maybe. Fraser gave a sharp inhalation, unsure of what Ray intended. Ray's breath was hot against Fraser's ear, voice quiet so he could only just hear it.

"Frase—?"

"Yes, Ray?" Fraser brought his hands tentatively up, just grazing the sides of Ray's ribs. Was he imagining it, or did the skin beneath his fingers tremble?

"Fifteen feet to your right…about two paces back. That's our guy."

It took Fraser a fraction of a second longer than normal to register what Ray had said, as reality returned, and the noises of the club with it. Yes. The case. Their suspect.

"Are you certain?" Fraser asked, hoping Ray hadn't noticed his lapse in concentration. 

"He hasn’t looked at me once since I've been on stage."

That Fraser couldn't understand, not when Ray looked so stunning. There could be logical reasons why the suspect hadn't been looking at Ray, but there was a certainty in Ray's voice. He knew they would only get one chance at this, after all. 

Ray stepped back, pulling Fraser up by the collar. Their bodies touched again, sending a frission of pleasure along Fraser's spine. Ray steered Fraser as he walked—sauntered, more like—maneuvering Fraser nearer their suspect. Fraser could see the man out of the corner of his eye. He was of medium build, wearing a long overcoat that made it difficult to tell if he carried a weapon. He stood rigid, clearly uncomfortable in his surroundings. They needed a way to be certain before they took action against him. 

Hands clasped the sides of his face, and Fraser found himself staring into Ray's eyes, now inches from his own. Fraser had always loved Ray's eyes, at once guarded and yet with a certain vulnerability when he thought no one could see. He would love the chance to lose himself in that gaze, if only the situation at hand weren't so pressing.

"Trust me," Ray said, and then closed the distance between them as he drew Fraser into a kiss.

For Fraser, it felt like his stomach had dropped out of his core. He was so shocked he barely had time to process it. Ray's mouth was hot against his, and more than a little rough—but this was all part of Ray's plan, Fraser knew. Even as Ray deepened the kiss, Fraser saw their suspect reaching into the folds of his coat. 

Ray tensed against Fraser, and then he was pulling away, reaching for his weapon as Fraser moved to close the distance between himself and their suspect. Fraser brought his arm up, blocking the man's attempt to train his weapon on any of the club's dancers. They grappled for a moment, while Fraser struggled to keep the gun in the man's hand pointed upwards and away from the other people. 

"Drop the gun!" Ray yelled, though the man didn't heed him. 

The club guests had caught on to what was happening, and were hastening to move out of the way. On the stage, Gene was ushering the other dancers backstage and out of harm's way. Fraser maintained his focus through the shouts and chaos, until he had finally wrested the gun from the man's grip. 

"On the ground! Hands above your head!" Ray shouted. 

The man laughed. "What are you gonna do…shoot me with your water pistol?"

"Do you see an orange safety tip? Sure you wanna take that chance? Because nothing would please me more than to take you down." Ray wasn't lying about the last remark. His face held the same dangerous edge Fraser had seen in Ray's apartment, when Ray had read the notes this man had left.

Doubt and fear flickered in the man's eyes, and that was all the opportunity Fraser needed to subdue him until he could be properly restrained. Calming the spectators down afterwards was another matter. Gene explained the situation—that Ray was an undercover cop responding to threats they'd received, and that everyone would receive their money and a voucher to come back another night if they wished—while Ray ducked into the back to pull on sweatpants and a t-shirt before they booked their suspect. The leather jewelry had also been removed, though apparently Ray hadn't had time to remove his eye makeup. Fraser hoped the disappointment didn't show on his face at seeing Ray covered again; he knew it was impractical given the circumstances. 

Eyewitness accounts were gathered from those around them, along with contact information should further statements be needed. Fraser reassured those who were concerned that their privacy would be respected. The man had quietened after his second attempt at a snide remark had been met by Ray's, "Try me. Give me a reason to beat your ass and I swear I will."

Then followed an awkward trip to the station with their apprehended suspect in the back seat, and an even more awkward conversation with Welsh. Or perhaps it only seemed awkward to Fraser. It was clear that Ray—eyeliner still smudging his eyelids and…was that glitter on his face?—felt little shame about his appearance. He seemed to stand even taller, as if daring anyone at the precinct to question his motives or reasoning behind his role in the case.

Finally, it was all finished; the interrogations, the paperwork, the statements. What remained could be finished later. It was around three in the morning when they got back to the car. Ray wavered where he stood, exhausted both physically and mentally, but he gave Fraser a cautious smile once they got into the GTO.

"So, uh…good on following my lead in there. We were great."

Fraser swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat. They _were_ great, but he was thinking instead of when Ray had danced above him. "I'm grateful nobody was hurt," he said, hoping his voice betrayed nothing further.

Ray nodded. Relief was clear on his features, a sort of relaxed tension from the anxiety of the evening. "I…er…suppose I oughta take you back to the consulate."

Fraser traced his thumb across his eyebrow. His tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip, then he stopped as he became conscious of what he was doing. "I'm…not on duty tomorrow," was all he said.

It was apparently all that was needed as Ray backed the car out and began the drive to his apartment. For Fraser's part, guilt niggled at him. His own desires had nearly taken precedence over the matter at hand, and he couldn't help but feel he had committed a grievous lapse in his duties.

"Ray," he spoke up suddenly in the quiet car. "I apologize for my lack of professionalism earlier. I allowed myself to become…distracted, and I fear I almost compromised the success of the case." 

Ray jerked his head to glance at Fraser. The car swayed somewhat between lanes which, at this time of night, were mostly empty. "Fraser, no, you cannot be like that. You did exactly as I asked."

"But, Ray, I let my—" he cut himself off before he could say anything about _personal feelings_. They hadn't gone there yet in words, whatever Fraser had read in Ray's face.

Ray was shaking his head. "No, you _do not_ get to beat yourself up when things go right. And even if you were distracted—" his voice had an odd catch on the last word. "—you still had your head in the game when it counted."

"Ray, I—"

"Fraser."

They pulled up to Ray's apartment, and Ray killed the engine. He didn't get up, just sat there for a moment, staring down at the steering wheel. He scrubbed a hand through his spikey hair. "Thing is, I…er…that is, I don't think I could've done it if you weren't there. I mean…"

He trailed off. Fraser remembered the look on his face, when Ray had been right there in his personal space, all his emotions laid out bare. Ray had always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, and never more so than in that moment—or this one. Fraser wondered that he hadn't seen it sooner.

Slowly, he reached his hand out, touching Ray's face in a light contact. Ray started, looking up to face him. His eyes were wide, so blue and filled with uncertainty. Fraser marveled at the way Ray's eyelashes fluttered as he, self-conscious, tried to look down again. Fraser's hand on his jaw stayed the movement. Before he could lose his nerve, Fraser closed the distance between their faces to press a kiss to Ray's lips.

This time, he knew Ray reciprocated his feelings—the night's events and their conversation had confirmed that—but it was still a shock to him when Ray responded, kissing back first cautiously and then with a desperate sort of fervor. It was nothing like their first kiss, which had been hard and rough, colored by the danger of the situation. This seemed to undulate between slow, savoring kisses, and faster ones, as they tried to memorize each other while both wanting _more_. Fraser was soon cradling Ray's face between both hands, not wanting to lose this slow-fast drag of lips and teeth and tongues. Everything narrowed, Ray his sole focus, and he would happily have continued simply kissing him if not for the muffled noise of protest emitting from Ray. 

Ray pulled back, shivering somewhat and breathing heavily. "Inside, let's go in, please? You're killing me, Fraser."

It didn't sound like an actual complaint, but Fraser was happy to move this somewhere more private. He followed Ray up the steps and into his apartment. All the while, he couldn't keep his hands from touching Ray—on his shoulder, at his wrist, the small of his back—more to keep himself grounded than anything else. This was real. This was happening. 

As soon as they were in Ray's apartment, the door shut and locked behind them, Fraser let himself touch freely. All his desire and want from earlier came rushing back. He trailed hands down Ray's torso through the thin t-shirt, skated across the taut planes of his stomach and around, until his hands rested on the sweatpants' waistband just above Ray's ass. Ray, kissing him again, made a needy noise in the back of his throat, and Fraser gave into the urge to let his hands dip lower, beneath the waistband.

Fraser froze. Ray was still wearing the thong from the club; he could feel the thin straps of the silky material. Knowing that Ray had been wearing it this whole time made Fraser groan, grinding his hips forward. His jeans were uncomfortably tight, but even so he slid down until he was on his knees, tugging the elastic waistband of Ray's pants as he went. Ray was unprepared for the sudden shift, or the cool air hitting his thighs.

"Fraser, ah!" His protestations were cut off as Fraser leaned in, allowing himself to indulge in what he'd wanted to do since he'd seen Ray on stage. He nuzzled at the silky black fabric stretched across Ray's erection, breathing deep as if to memorize his scent. The fabric was damp from sweat and precome, but to Fraser it was amazing. He flicked his tongue out, tasting Ray through the fabric.

"Jeez— _fuck_ , Fraser! Warn a guy, would ya?"

And Ray had a point. His legs wobbled beneath him, the sweatpants bunched around his knees, and Fraser noted Ray was still wearing his boots. Fraser held him steady, unwilling to get up from where he was kneeling just yet, while Ray braced steadying hands on Fraser's shoulders.

"You were beautiful up there, Ray," Fraser said. For some reason, it was important Ray be aware of that. "How did you—?" He began. He wasn't sure what he was asking. How Ray had found the courage to go undercover on such a potentially dangerous case, how he had been able to strip in front of a room full of strangers.

Ray was shaking his head, something between a grin and sheer incredulity written on his face. "Help me get these off before I fall over," he said, gesturing at the sweatpants. As Fraser carefully pulled Ray's booted feet out of the bunched fabric, he continued, "I told you in the car. Started to, at least. I got through all of that by pretending it was just you there."

Fraser gaped as he got to his feet again. "I thought you enjoyed dancing."

"I do! But it's more of a partners thing, you know? It's between me and that…special person. Not really much of an exhibitionist."

Fraser was aware he was staring at Ray in awe, but he couldn't seem to stop. "But the stripping...?"

Ray grinned. "Just for you."

Fraser kissed Ray then, swift and deep. He walked Ray backwards toward the apartment's bedroom. Only once they were there, with Ray tugging futilely at Fraser's jacket, did he break the kiss. "Let me," he murmured into Ray's mouth. 

He held Ray's shoulders in a firm grip as he directed him to sit on the bed. Ray was still wearing the t-shirt, which he quickly shucked.

"C'mon, then, what are you waiting for?" Ray said, lighthearted but with a hint of impatience.

"Stay there. I want to try something,” he said, standing back from the bed. 

He wanted to do this, had since he’d seen Ray on stage, but he hadn’t realized just how much until Ray had explained it to him. Fraser had never been one for dancing, but Ray was his partner—more than that—and he wanted to share this with him now. He dragged down the zipper on his leather jacket, following the motion with his own eyes. The metal teeth rasped as Fraser forced himself to move slowly, so Ray could read his intent. He was suddenly nervous, worried that might appear foolish, standing up here with no music to back him up. As the zipper catch came loose, he looked upwards towards Ray. 

Ray’s mouth hung open. He stared at Fraser, a mix of amazement and want in his eyes. He was leaning forward where he sat on the bed, one hand bunched in the covers beside him, gripping tightly. The other hand was pressed, heel down, against his crotch.

“ _God_ , Fraser, do you have any idea how hot you are?”

Fraser didn’t know if he could trust himself to answer. Still, just hearing that gave him a rush. Emboldened, he deliberately ran his tongue along his bottom lip as he allowed the jacket to slide off his shoulders. It was a thrill to see the way Ray hung onto his every movement. Even so, there was only so long he could stare at Ray before the heat in his own body became too much, and he looked away to focus on the buttons of his shirt. His pulse raced with the knowledge that he was doing this—that his actions were arousing to Ray. Strangely, he didn’t know if the pressure in his own groin was a result of what he was doing or Ray’s reaction. A combination of both, probably.

Blood pounded in Fraser’s ears. He wondered for a moment if this would be any easier with music, then dismissed that thought. It would be harder, for him at least. He had felt out of his element with the club music surrounding him, and trying to recreate that now would feel too much like a farce. What he was doing now was all him. He wanted to give Ray a show, though he knew it would pale in comparison to Ray’s earlier.

Deft fingers slid each button free, exposing more of his chest. Something about taking his time, making sure every move was done slowly, deliberately, made everything more visceral. Fraser parted the shirt, letting out a soft gasp as the material brushed his nipples. From the bed, Ray made a guttural noise in the back of his throat. Fraser met Ray’s eyes again, _needing_ whatever he might find there.

Ray looked _wrecked_ , his entire body seeming to hum from the pent-up energy of being forced to stay put. Ray was an individual who was constantly in motion, and it was plain from the look on his face the toll this was taking. The hand against his erection was more to prevent his release than hasten it. He wanted to see what Fraser would do next—that was what kept him in place even though it was a physical effort to do so.

Seeing how affected Ray was seemed to have given Fraser renewed confidence. Maintaining eye contact with Ray, he lifted the cuff of his shirt to his mouth. He tugged it with his teeth while he unbuttoned first one, then the other in turn. Ray groaned audibly from the bed, staring hungrily as the shirt finally slid off, exposing Fraser’s torso and arms.

Fraser reached for the button on his jeans, then stopped, momentarily derailed as he looked down. He hadn’t thought this through; he was still wearing his shoes and socks, and didn’t have the benefits of trick pants for easy removal. And there was no way to seductively remove one’s socks, not that Fraser knew of. He stood there, completely flummoxed as to how to proceed, when a chuckle from Ray diverted his attention.

Ray shifted from the bed to the floor with feline grace. “Here, let me get that for you.”

He lifted one of Fraser’s feet, efficiently removing shoe and sock. Fraser braced his hands on Ray’s shoulders for support, all of his carefully held composure gone with Ray’s head that close to the straining front of his jeans. There was something strangely intimate in what Ray was doing, the way he set Fraser’s foot down before removing the shoe from the other. It made Fraser’s throat feel tight not from arousal, but another emotion entirely—one not altogether unfamiliar but no less fearful.

Ray looked up, and it was too much for Fraser. His eyes, his _face_ , everything in his expression that said more than words ever could—the only way Fraser knew how to respond right now was by hauling Ray to his feet and kissing him. He told Ray in the warm press of lips what he couldn’t voice, and felt it returned. They were like magnets, constantly drawn to one another and—once there—unable to separate. Ray’s kiss was heated; he was kinetic after being solitary for so long, and Fraser was happy to allow Ray the lead in this once more. 

Ray steered Fraser around, manhandling him with a surprising proficiency until he could push them both onto the bed. Fraser fell backwards, air leaving him in a rush. When his senses cleared, Ray was already at work on the button and zipper of his jeans.

“C’mon...c’mon Fraser. Waited too long for this—”

And that was a question for another time, whether Ray meant he had waited too long _tonight_ , or if he had been wanting this for far longer. Not important now, as Fraser hitched his hips to allow Ray to pull off his jeans. Boxers followed, and then Ray was moving up his body again. He’d been too impatient to remove his boots or the thong, instead simply pulling the already stressed material aside to free his cock. And then there was skin on glorious skin as Ray lay against him, kissing his face, the stubble of his jawline, and the hollow of his neck. Their cocks aligned, and Fraser’s hips jerked of their own volition. He didn’t think he could exercise restraint in this instance, and for the first time, he didn’t have to. 

Ray shivered as Fraser’s hands trailed down the small of his back, coming to rest at his ass. Fraser gripped, pulling Ray closer in a delicious drag of friction. Ray gasped, thrusting into the space between their bodies. The rhythm was slightly off, their cocks stuttering against each other in slight disharmony, but they were both too far along for it to matter. They were rushing towards something inevitable and long-awaited—finesse was the least of their concerns.

“Ray,” Fraser groaned into the shell of Ray’s ear. “Ray...Ray... _Ray_.”

Ray was incoherent, mumbling a _fuuuck_ into Fraser’s neck as he thrust down once, twice more. When he came, it was a hot rush that pulsed between their bodies. Fraser’s hips continued to hitch upwards, eased now by slickness, until his own desire crested. He shuddered, clutching Ray to his body in a tight embrace, until both their tremors finally ceased.

Fraser breathed deep, his nose brushing the hair behind Ray’s ear. He smelled hair product and sweat, and something beneath that was undeniably _Ray_. He gave an appreciative murmur and shifted closer, wanting more.

Ray lifted his head, craning his neck back to regard Fraser with an amused expression. “Freak,” he mumbled fondly. 

Fraser gave a _Hmmmm_ of acknowledgement.

Ray looked at the mess between them, his face a comical scrunch. “I should clean this up before we’re glued together.”

Fraser wanted to say he wouldn’t mind being stuck to Ray, though perhaps not in such an intimate place. He made no argument as Ray shifted off him, grabbing tissues from the side of the bed to clean them both. Ray didn’t immediately return to the bed, instead fidgeting around the room, picking up Fraser’s dropped clothing and then staring at it, as if wondering whether he ought to put it in his own laundry pile or not. Fraser wanted to tell Ray to leave it, it could wait until morning. Ray set the clothes on a chair, before finally returning. He kicked his boots off and removed the thong, now stretched and ruined, and then sat on the bed next to Fraser. Something was amiss, Fraser could see it in the anxious set of Ray’s shoulders, and the now unfathomable depths of Ray’s eyes.

“So, er...was it the stripping? I mean, is that what turned your crank? ‘Cause I can do that...I can work with that.”

Fraser gaped. He couldn’t believe Ray thought that of him, that he could be so shallow as to—oh. It was there on Ray’s face, hidden well, but visible nevertheless. Ray was insecure, desperate for affection but terrified at the possibility of losing it. Fraser had known this, had seen it in the way his partner had pined over Stella, in the way he’d pursued Luanne Russell but then been unable to trust her. Ray thought he was going lose Fraser, so he was grasping a straws, trying to figure out what would make Fraser stay. He didn’t realize how integral he already was to Fraser’s happiness.

“It was _you_ , Ray. It’s always been you.”

He didn’t want to give Ray time to over think that, or allow his insecurities or doubts to factor in. He just took Ray’s hand that was nearest him on the bed and tugged, pulling Ray on top of him and then canting his hips and rolling until they were reversed. Ray ended up beneath him, pinned and breathless, and with a dazed sort of smile that said he couldn’t quite believe where he’d ended up.

“Likewise. I only meant that—”

“Ray.” Fraser punctuated the interruption with a swift kiss. “Ray. _Ray_.”

“Yeah, Frase?”

“Stop arguing.”

“M’not arguing,” Ray insisted, but he grinned in a way that told Fraser he was not entirely serious.

And that was okay. There was nothing out of the ordinary about Ray griping with him. Ray flexed his wrists beneath Fraser’s hands, which sent a thrill of excitement through Fraser, particularly lower down. He was already battling exhaustion from the night’s events, but he might have a bit more energy.

“Great,” Fraser said, leaning down to kiss Ray again.

“Greatness.”


End file.
